The Shinigami's Angel
by RedPineapple27
Summary: Set episode 19, though no spoilers. Basically what could have happened during that night in Yukimi's living room.


**Set during episode 19: Profile of an Angel of Death, when Miharu and Yoite are sleeping in Yukimi's living room. **

**Basically my mind filling in the blanks for the night they spent alone together, Miharu on the couch and Yoite on his favourite bit of floor.**

**Fairly fluffy, but deal with it.  
>Sorry in advance, I'm not particularly experienced in writing cuteness or cohabitation. <strong>

**I fixed this up and re-uploaded –I just wasn't happy with this one. Not many changes, so if your reading for the first time, then you missed the dodgy version. If your re-reading (however unlikely) then expect a few changes, mostly grammatical ones, but still. **

**Disclaimer: Nabari No Ou belongs to its creators, ie, not me. **

**The Shinigami's Angel.**

Miharu leaned down, blanket clutched around himself, to touch Yoite's slick forehead. The older boy jerked a little at the contact, but it was a sign of just how run down he was that he remained asleep.

Miharu didn't like how cold Yoite was, even under the second blanket Yukimi had thrown over him upon returning. And the idiot had fallen asleep on the floor. Miharu had meant to give his friend the couch, but the Kira user had already collapsed into sleep on his beloved section of floor by the time Miharu had returned with blankets, leaving the younger with nothing to do other than flutter a blanket over Yoite's emaciated body.

But that had been hours ago.

Miharu had woken briefly when Yukimi arrived home, the noise of the microwave spinning apple cider around jolting him to consciousness. He'd watched the blonde spoon feed Yoite, talk to him, betraying his feelings for the teenager as deeper than he'd ever admit in the light of day.

He'd fallen back to sleep before Yukimi had left, soothed as much as Yoite by the calm tone and the words he was too tired to care about.

Now he was worried. He slid off of the couch, almost putting his foot in the largely untouched cider. Miharu picked off his own blanket, shivering in the unwelcome chill of the night air, and laid it over Yoite. He sat down at the older boy's back and laid a hand in Yoite's obsidian hair, thumbing the strands and rubbing the scalp gently. Having his hair played with was something Miharu had always found instantly relaxing, an opinion he hoped the older shared.

They stayed like that for unknown minutes. Miharu toying lovingly with Yoite's hair, Yoite asleep –by all indications. Miharu sighed softly; he cared about this boy in an unfamiliar, irrational way. He didn't know him, not even a last name. And Yoite had never been friendly, driven only by his desire to see his wish fulfilled. Miharu didn't know what it was. If it was love, which he doubted, all descriptions thus far had been inaccurate. He cared about Yoite in the same way he cared for family and close friends: platonically. The only difference being that Yoite required protection that Miharu lacked both the training and knowledge to give.

Miharu's hand left the silky hair and went to the older boy's neck, softly massaging the smooth skin there. From his neck he moved to the lone hand left uncovered by all three blankets, he reached for it, curling his fingers around it –scared of how icy the extremity was.

Miharu lifted the three layers near Yoite's back, slipping off the couch and rolling himself under –being as gentle as possible with his unsuspecting bed mate. He pulled Yoite's hand from the cold air and huddled it within his own, arm draped over Yoite's waist and body lightly spooning his still form. Miharu laid his head against Yoite's bony shoulder, huffing gently in sleepy pleasure.

**. . . **

Yoite wasn't sure if it was simply too dark to see or if his eyes had finally failed him.

All he cared about in that moment was Miharu's hand furled around his own and the younger boy's body like an electric blanket at his back. He knew by the rhythm of his breathing that Miharu was asleep. He leaned back a little into the boy. Not enough to rouse him, just to glean a little more warmth from that boy who always seemed to just _know, _easy as breathing what he needed. He liked how the extra contact deepened the touch –usually so anathema to him.

Yoite let himself enjoy the way Miharu held him, gently and without presumption, like all the hugs they'd shared. He knew he'd never find the words to tell Miharu just how much he valued him, least of all for his quiet acceptance of his wish.

He hoped Miharu knew how much he meant to him. **  
><strong> 


End file.
